


Aftermath

by Edana_erised (Myriad_13)



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fiction, Friendship, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing, fandom matters, how they felt, post Sherlock screening, what i think could have happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myriad_13/pseuds/Edana_erised
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of reading out someone's fanfiction, Benedict feels ashamed and is comforted by his friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Basically in the shit storm that's happening with the Sherlock fandom right now, I really wanted to write about how Benedict, Martin and Amanda could have been behind closed doors. I feel like these three have a fantastic friendship together, and I really wanted to convince myself (by writing it out) that they would comfort each other in this way. My first piece of RPF, so I hope I've done okay.

**Aftermath**

\---()---

Nimble fingers gripped the tumbler of whisky tightly, white knuckles belying the tension rippling through his body.

Tonight had gone too far.

Sure, it had been easy to laugh it off in front of people, cameras, the god forsaken _media_ , but now, his bottled emotions rose to the fore.

Reading out that fanfiction had been humiliating.

Benedict sighed roughly. He was tired from all the press junkets with the Desolation of Smaug and with the new Sherlock season gearing up…instead of Christmas it felt like a lead up to a court hearing or something equally as anxiety inducing. He knew himself. He needed to rest and recharge. Especially after this. He tugged off his suit jacket with ill grace and dumped it over the side of the sofa, leaning back against the plush cushions.

His mind was whirling with what had happened.

The premiere screening had been fantastic until Caitlin Moran had requested that he and Martin read out someone’s fanfiction. A fanfiction about the Johnlock pairing. Which they had. The description in the fiction was so rich, so colourful, and if he hadn’t been pandering to the crowd of ravenous journalists looking up at their panel greedily, he would have admired the style of writing.

It was uncomfortable. It had been awkward.

It was humiliating not only because, well, the press would have jumped down their throats (possibly calling them homophobes and not respecting their fandom) if they hadn’t, but because he had taken part in hurting someone. Some anonymous person out there was going to be furious that their work had been taken and tarnished in such a way. He had reluctantly participated in the shaming of people who so loved to write and create fiction and art as well. The fans were the ones to raise them and the show up, the fans had been the ones to make all this – the embarrassment of riches he had received in all parts of his life - possible.

The actions of tonight had torn them down. He knew what was going to happen. The internet was going to go ballistic. Hate was going to fester and breed. There would be reluctance to display their creations, their imaginations. In an ideal world, he would love to release a statement encouraging them, telling the fans to be proud of their strength. He would so love to tell them he was fine with anything they did with his characters as long as, well, he didn’t have it shoved in his face every moment he was out and about or being interviewed. Let them have their hopes and dreams and inspirations. To crush that was a human tragedy.

But this wasn’t an ideal world.

Benedict sighed and took a sip of the amber liquid, relishing in the burn as penance.

He was ashamed.

And this moment of gloriousness for season 3 of Sherlock had been mottled with the stain of disgrace.

“Hey.”

Benedict glanced up, acknowledging his friend with a nod. “Where’s Amanda?”

“Making sure the kids are tucked in. Grace had a nightmare the other night so we’re keeping a watch on that,” Martin replied, plopping down tiredly next to his friend. He picked up his own drink and took a swig, shaking his head in wonder. “Fucking hell.”

“Mmm,” hummed the taller man.

“You okay?” Martin asked. He and Ben had become great mates and in the process, he knew a great deal about his body language. He knew that Ben was feeling drained and uncomfortable, like he was wearing clothing a size too tight that he couldn’t get out of. Martin had a thicker skin. He could handle the press and the shit around him a little more. Ben though…he had a gentle soul. A bright light that could easily be dimmed.

“I’ll be fine,” Benedict murmured. He nudged Martin’s shoulder in assurance. “The backlash from this, however…” He trailed off, glaring into his whisky as if it had all the answers. “I wish I could rewind tonight. This will…this isn’t fair.”

“No, it’s not,” agreed Martin calmly.

“There’s already a lynch mob for Amanda about her role and now Caitlin and the fandom are going to be put under disgust tinged scrutiny as well. Different types of course, but-“

“Ben,” the shorter man broke in and slung an arm around tense shoulders. “Stop.”

“But-“

“Shut the fuck up you over thinking tosser.” The words were harsh but the tone was familiar and kind. It got Benedict’s cupid bow lips to smile a little. “It is what it is. We can’t change it. It’s shitty, but we have to keep moving forward. You know that. Hopefully the new season will cheer everyone up. At the end of the day, the fans will read us. They’ll know that _we_ didn’t intend this to happen,” Martin said.

Benedict ran a hand through his hair angrily, dishevelling it. “I’m still pissed about it,” he muttered.

“And you have every right to be,” a new voice said gently.

Both men looked up, smiling at Amanda as she glided into the room. She had changed out of her dress and wore comfy trackies and a shirt. She was open around these two – one the love of her life, and one who had become such a dear friend to them all. She plopped down on Martin’s lap, but wrapped her arms around Benedict in a comforting embrace, echoing her actions from earlier that evening. Ben relaxed minutely. He was among those he cared for and who cared for him in return. It was enough to calm his train of thought and burning anger and embarrassment.

“You can stay here tonight,” Amanda offered gently.

It was so tempting. Benedict needed this. Comfort to ease his rough edges.

“Yeah. You can even kip at the end of our bed if you want,” Martin teased, earning a light punch on the shoulder from his partner.

Ben rolled his eyes. Same old Martin. “No thanks. You stink. I don’t know how you put up with it Amanda,” he bantered back.

With a chuckle, Amanda replied, “Neither do I.” She rose and stretched with a yawn. “Come on then. We’ll need some rest to wether the shit storm tomorrow. G’night boys.”

“Night,” the chorused.

Martin looked into Benedict’s eyes, reading the residual stress in his face. “Try and sleep. Remember, we can only do the best we can. Besides…we’ve got each other. You, Amanda, me, we’ll be right mate,” he said.

“Yes.” They both rose, Benedict going into the often used guest room after wishing Martin a good night’s sleep. It was there, finally letting his world-weary limbs sink into the soft bedding that he blew out a breath and made his own wish. That one day humanity would not be so cruel. And that he would never have to partake in it again.

Also…that he had such wonderful people such as Amanda and Martin in his life forever. 


End file.
